Pranks and Creeping
by cosmo17
Summary: America is creeping on Russia hardcore. When he gets a brilliant idea to play a prank on him, things are taken to a whole new level. Purely humor, nothing more! Some language.


America was creeping. Hardcore. Like, if he were creeping on a scale of one to France, he would be at France-hundred. If that's even a number. Though, America took pride in his super-creep skills. He was just that good. He supposed that's what CIA training was good for. He currently huddled himself under a scraggly looking bush, staring into the living room window of a large house with high powered, night vision goggles. Not just anyone's house either. This house belonged to none other than Russia. According to his intel, America had been stalking the man for three days, six hours, forty eight minutes, and nine seconds. Not that he was keeping track. That totally wouldn't be cool at all.

Now, a question that may have arisen in the minds of all who are reading this... Why is the all powerful, totally handsome, awesome America, stalking the creepy, cold, and ex-commie Russia? There is only one simple answer. Because it was funny. It was damn funny, America knew, and it would be even funnier when he revealed the several thousand digital photos he had expertly taken at the next World Conference. Of course, only the embarrassing ones. Such as Russia in his race car pajamas, (Race cars? How lame compared to America's own manly T-Rex pajamas!) several of the Russian subtly picking his nose, and (America's favorite) the ones of him eating a Big Mac at a McDonalds in Moscow, grease dripping down his chin as he wolfed down the American food, completely oblivious to the fact that over thirty high quality pictures had just been taken of him.

America snickered, remembering those beautiful photos. He also remembered that there were only 310 McDonalds in Russia, which made it even funnier, since he had to drive all the way to the city to get a burger. He stared intensely at his former foe, as the man nibbled ferociously at the end of a chocolate bar, the television displaying some Russian sitcom. The super tiny microphones that America had planted throughout Russia's house picked up everything. For some reason, Russia spoke English quite a bit, even when he was alone. It was always mingled with Russian though. Oh well, it made things easier and funnier for America. Russia began speaking, and America turned up the volume on his super stealthy earpiece.

"Oh how I love Cafe' Strawberry. Это небесное," Russia said to himself, smiling happily.

America snorted at the mention that Russia was watching something called 'Cafe' Strawberry.'

"Oh that is right! Funny Business is on next!" Russia squealed in delight like a fangirl, causing America to snicker, making sure to save the voice recording.

Just as Russia had switched the channel, America got an idea. A brilliant idea. An excellent, fantabulous, extra hero-tastical idea. He was going to play a prank on Russia. A scary prank! That Commie-bastard always seemed to be able to terrify others, without ever being scared in return. Well, America would change that. Starting now. The ecstatic nation ran from the bush, over to a few trash and recycling bins around the side of Russia's house. He quickly found an empty vodka bottle, and took a piece of pizza from his spy-pack. Aww, he had to sacrifice his snack to prank Russia. America stared forlornly at the pizza, before grinning and knowing that it was for the good of the laughs he would have. He quickly set up his camera and prepared the prank...

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Russia sighed as he heard a sharp knock at his front door. He grumbled a bit as he threw off a small blanket he had been covered with, wondering just who could be out here at five in the evening. When he opened the door, nobody was there. He glanced around in annoyance, swearing he would make those ding dong ditchers pay, before he looked down, and froze. On his front porch was a half broken vodka bottle, and red smears all around it. Upon closer inspection, he found that the red smears had formed a word, an English word. **KILL**. Russia paused for a moment, noticing that the substance looked like blood. Hesitating a bit, he ran a finger through the substance, finding out that it was not blood, but rather, tomato sauce. Was Spain playing a prank on him? Russia frowned, yelled out a Russian curse word, and went back inside.

America rolled around laughing, from inside Russia's shed. He was sure Russia would have been scared, though he hadn't. If anything, he only looked a bit miffed, but America still found it hilarious. He decided to wait until late tonight to initiate phase two of Operation: Commie Fear. He sat back and began to draw out his plan...

It was midnight when America snuck into Russia's creepy house. Everything was dark, but America had studied the blueprints of the place well. He knew where every last piece of furniture was, and even avoided the creaking step on the stairs. He silently crouched and slipped into Russia's room, carrying his new plan under his arm. He made his way to Russia's bedside table, stopping only to take a few pictures of the peacefully sleeping Russian (not because he was planning on keeping them, totally just for the laughs). He placed a very creepy doll on the bedside table, which had half of its face missing, and all the hair lopped off. He had ripped up the edges of the dress and jammed a couple of rusty nails into the things head, making for a very creepy look. America shivered a bit at the sight of his own creation. Quickly lighting a five minute fuse, America set up his mini camera, and placed the string of firecrackers under Russia's bed. With that, he fled the house.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

The noise was thunderous. It rocked the whole house with a deafening roar as repeated explosions lit the room. Russia sat bolt upright in bed, a look of pure shock on his face. That's when he noticed the doll. With an ear piercing shriek, he flung himself out of bed in the other direction, scuttling toward the door before finally standing, and throwing himself out the door. He screamed in terror as he bolted out of his house in his race car pajamas, jumped into his car, and sped down the driveway, only to crash head on into a tree at the end of his lawn. The horn stayed on, and America could only guess that he was out cold. America went very red in the face before laughing so hard it hurt. This would make a great debut at the World Conference tomorrow...

**XxXxXxXxXx**

America snickered as he realized that Russia was very jumpy at the meeting. He also had a rather large bump on his forehead, and had arrived that morning in a rental car. Which was funny because the meeting was in Moscow. America almost couldn't contain his laughter. Almost. But he did, because he was just cool like that. It was during Germany's very boring speech that the projector screen went all fuzzy, causing every country to look up in alarm. Russia jumped ten feet in the air at the sound and sight of his own shrieks of terror, the crackling and banging coming from his house. He watched in horror as he sprinted from his house, got in his car, and crashed it at the end of the driveway. He went very red in the face, and pulled his scarf over his nose, sinking down in his chair. Then, pictures whizzed across the screen. Thousands of pictures of him caught in various humiliating scenarios, and even ones of him sleeping. When it ended, all were silent.

Until somebody snorted. Then...

"BAHAHAHAHA! Oh my god look at his face, what the hell Russia? Were you seriously eating a Big Mac, hahaha did you see you crash your car? I bet that'll cost like a thousand dollars to fix, ahahaha!" America was standing, tears of laughter rolling down his face as he finally let loose all the laughter that had built up that week.

Russia calmly stood, getting a bit less red. He walked casually over, and an earth-shattering smack filled the room. America lay in a heap on the floor, unconscious. England was the first to stand, walking over and staring at the silent American. He patted Russia on the shoulder, mumbling "good lad" before returning to his seat. The meeting resumed as if nothing had happened, and Russia smiled. At least now he knew who to exact revenge upon before the next World Conference.

Это небесное = This is heavenly.

I looked up some info for this stuff, and yes, Cafe Strawberry is an actual Russian sitcom. Funny Business, Family Business is also the first Russian sitcom to ever air. Wikipedia says that there are only 310 McDonald's franchises in Russia, so yeah... Theres your history lesson for the day :)

**A/n: Just for the humor. I hope this was funny yalls :) R&R**


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